


The Force

by Asso



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M, Love, Real Canon (Believe Me), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 13:33:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asso/pseuds/Asso
Summary: THERE'S A FORCE IN THE UNIVERSE





	The Force

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luck O Tucker (Lt_Zoe_Jebkanto)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lt_Zoe_Jebkanto/gifts), [TatianaTova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TatianaTova/gifts), [ginamc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginamc/gifts), [Amberlioness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberlioness/gifts).



> My friends, do you remember Borderland? The episode where T'Pol is practically likely to be sold as a slave in the Orion slave market? I’m sure you remember and I also think that, in seeing it, you'll definitely have derived a strong feeling that something was wrong, was unsaid.
> 
> Something? Much more than something!
> 
> For one thing, it is no coincidence that Archer does it all alone, putting his head on the block, as usual, without thinking of what could happen if he were to die and jeopardizing not only himself, but also lives of others. Sure, he always does like this, but in this particular case… I mean, why does he keep his chief engineer away from everything, from any decision? After T'Pol, he is the most senior officer in charge, and yet... it almost seems that he wants to keep Trip away from T'Pol. And if, without our Captain being fully aware to do it on purpose, it was just like that?
> 
> And Trip? Do you remember? He takes T'Pol's hand in his, when she has just returned. He just tells her she has nothing serious, but that gesture means so much more. She’s his love and although he bitterly tells her he can no longer have anything to do with her because she is now a married woman, from his whole way of behaving and speaking it exudes just the opposite. He loves T'Pol madly and, what’s worse, he knows she loves him equally passionately, although she is now in such a position that, even if she probably would want finally to say it loud and clear, she can no longer say it. (But, in a way, she does. Otherwise why the hell she tells him that Vulcans don’t have Honeymoon?) You see, my friends, matter is that that interaction between Trip and T'Pol has not been the only one. There were other interactions, even if T'Pol... doesn’t know.
> 
> Well, enough now. Time to read, now. Just one last thing. You know, sooner or later one has to face his ghosts. Archer… well, he had to do it; he had to confront his own ghosts, ghosts far more terrible if you think that the most horrible of them has the face… of Trip!
> 
> Okay. Now I really think the time has come to read, my friends, to understand what is... THE FORCE!
> 
> A small important additional note.  
> I dedicate this work to some dear friends (as well as, of course, to all my readers) as you can see from the fact that this tale is a gift for them.  
> However, this time I would like to dedicate this story especially to a person, a new writer who recently published here, on this site, some wonderful stories about Trip and T'Pol.  
> There is a force in such stories that rivals the love of Trip and T'Pol.  
> This story, my dear friend - Amberlioness - is a gift for you.

* * *

**The Force**

* * *

 

The door chime shakes me from the gloomy thoughts that burden my mind, hindering my sleep.  
  
My voice resounds dismal, as I talk. “Come in.”  
  
The door opens and the unmistakable shape of doctor Phlox appears in the doorway. He advances slowly through the room, toward my desk, where I’m sitting in dreary abeyance, while the door closes behind him.  
  
I feel a tightening in my stomach. It’s late, and there’s no reason for the doctor to come to me directly, to speak to me personally, without using OC.  
  
(* _Unless…_ *) - I try to be positive – (* _It's not automatically going to be bad news. It's not!_ *)  
  
I look at the way Phlox is walking.  
  
He sounds… heavy, and not only there’s not the lightest shadow of a smile on his face. On the contrary his expression is dreary and somber.  
  
He stops in front of me, staring at me.  
  
I stand up slowly, mirroring his look.  
  
My voice is weak when I speak.  
  
“Doc?”  
  
“Captain… I think she’s…”  
  
His voice breaks off, while he lowers his eyes. Then he recovers. He looks at me again and finishes his sentence.  
  
“I think she’s going, Captain.”  
  
Rage! It flies at me, untamable! I can't control it! I can't help speaking harshly to the doctor. I blow up. “You said she was able to resume her duties the same afternoon we rescued her from the Orion Slave Market!”  
  
There’s no resentment on Phlox’s face or in his words, while he answers me. There’s only sadness. And a lot of despondency and of heartsickness. “That was true, Captain. She was doing absolutely well, as the others. Nothing made me imagine…”  
  
I anticipate the doctor, finishing his sentence in his stead, still harshly, almost I would want to reproach him for what happened. “… That some time after she would have collapsed to the floor, totally unconscious…”  
  
“Captain…”  
  
I can’t help expressing myself with anger, again. “And thank goodness, Trip was there, near her, when she fell apart, and he brought her to you in a jiffy!”  
  
“Captain…”  
  
“Because, otherwise, she probably would've just died then!”  
  
“Captain, please…”  
  
I finish my speaking in a bitter whisper - “Instead of having to wait until now.” - looking at Phlox in dismay, as he does.  
  
“Captain…”. Phlox’s voice is a whisper, too. An uncertain whisper in search of the right words.  
  
I sit down slowly, lowering my eyes. “Why, Phlox?”  
  
“Captain, I…”  
  
I interrupt the doctor. If I keep talking, maybe the sorrow will go away; maybe none of it will be true. "How can we lose her like this? In less than twenty-four hours? She was fine! Why can't we do anything?"  
  
“Captain…” It’s a sad refrain, my name on Phlox’s mouth, a sad refrain to my useless questions.  
  
“Why, Phlox? Why was that Orion device so deadly to her?”  
  
“Captain, I told you. The Pa'nar syndrome…”  
  
I raise my hand with a feeble gesture. “I know. I know, Phlox.” My chest hurts. I'm powerless. I'm smiling, but I'm miserable. "Sorry. That was stupid. You… you know how stupidly Humans act, sometimes."  
  
“Captain…”  
  
Once again that word on doctor’s lips, that word which means my power. And my solitude.  
  
“Yeah. I know. Damn syndrome! Damn device! DAMN ORIONS! DAMN DESTINY!  **DAMN!!”**  
  
“Captain!” Phlox’s voice is harsh, now, like he's trying to shake me.  
  
But I’m tired of that name.  
  
I’m tired of being the Captain.  
  
I snap to my feet, speaking with angry voice. "Damn the day she threw her lot in with ours! This is how we repay her for her friendship!"  
  
“That’s enough, Captain!” Phlox's harsh tone brings me back. He gazes steadily at me. Solemnly. “She’s going, Captain. She’s…” Phlox swallows, with clear effort. “She’s dying, Captain.”  
  
I stare at him in a daze.  
  
He goes on. Weakly. Purposely. “I think you should go to her, Captain.”  
  
I keep my eyes fixed with the doctor's. I feel so numb.  
  
“Before… it’s too late, Captain.”  
  
I shake myself, nodding. Without voice.  
  
Then I gather myself. I speak, with poise and collectedness. With cocksureness. Like the Captain has to do. “Right, doctor.” I start to walk toward the door, the doctor behind me. I reach the door and open it, but I turn back to the doctor before I go through, looking strangely at him. “Let’s go, Phlox.”  
  
His eyes are locked with mine.  
  
“She’s waiting, and I don’t want…” – (* _What’s this lump in my throat?_ *) - “I don’t want to disappoint her. And…” – (* _And what’s this sudden and strange though in my mind?_ *) - “…I don’t want Trip to think I don’t care for her.”  
  
Phlox’s eyes tighten at my words, but he doesn’t say anything.  
  
We go toward the sickbay… where my First Officer is dying.  
  
My friend. The Vulcan woman who’s losing her life because she wanted to share her destiny with ours.

* * *

 

 

I open the sickbay’s door in the chilly silence of the  _Enterprise's_ artificial night. The dark and the silence inside the room affect me more than in the corridor. It sounds wrong, as an ominous omen. Only the nighttime lighting and the indicator lights of the medical devices are working, and the miscellaneous specimens of the Doctor’s zoo are oddly quiet.  
  
The only noise is the monotonous sound of her respiratory device.  
  
I enter the lonely room with Phlox behind me, heading reluctantly for the bed where she lies.  
  
And I see  **him.**  
  
I stop suddenly. The doctor almost bumps into me.  
  
Stiff, silent, motionless he is standing at the bed's side, and I… I‘m not surprised to see him here. And now. Like if I was expecting that. Because… _Because… what?_  
  
And what will happen… now?  
  
His stare is fixed on the quiescent form of the woman on the bed, on her inert visage, with his arms crossed on his chest and a hard expression on his face.  
  
Softly, nearly fearfully, I call him.  
  
I whisper his name.  
  
“Trip.”  
  
He doesn’t make the smallest movement. Engrossed. Lost in his contemplation, like if nothing else existed for him but the woman dying on that bed.  
  
I call him again, with a new, low-pitched whisper. The doctor is still standing close to me; I hear his feeble breath in my ears.  
  
“Trip.”  
  
With an endless, painful slowness, he raises his head, turning his face toward us and looking at us with vacant eyes.  
  
A long instant of bated silence, then he turns back to her.  
  
He uncrosses his arms, bringing his right hand to rest on her stock-still face, and his fingers begin to caress her cheek, delicately, - (* _Why am I not surprised to see him do that?_ *) - while he turns once more his empty eyes at us.  
  
I try to speak, his name again on my mouth, again a low whisper that attempts to break his … yes… his despair. “Trip…”  
  
I can’t go on. His eyes stop me.  
  
His fingers are still fondly stroking her face - (* _What’s this pang inside me? Is it confusion? Only that? Is it… is it…?_ *) - when he talks, finally, in a voice I don't recognize.  
  
A dead voice.  
  
“She’s dying, Jon.”  
  
It resounds tragic, at this moment, my name on his lips. - (* _What’s… what’s this pang inside me? Is it confusion? Really that? ONLY THAT? Is it… is it… WHAT?_ *).  
  
"Commander..." I hear the doctor whisper this call from behind me.  
  
Those glazed eyes turn upon Phlox, who stops at Trip's look. A look which rives the soul.  
  
“I know it, doctor.” - It’s a faint whisper of pure desperation. - “I know, because…" - I imagine the words he’s going to say. - (* _What’s this pang inside me? **What does it mean?**_ *) - “… because…” - The truth I suspected long since, it blossoms… sweet and bitter… on his mouth. - “… I love her.” - (* _What is this which I'm feeling inside? **What does it mean ? What do I feel?**_ *)  
  
I don't dare do or say anything. I can only listen to this heartbreaking declaration of love, made just as we're-- **he's** —losing her.  
  
“I love her, Jon, and she…” - Those dead eyes squint a little, as though my friend were searching the strength. - “…she loves me.”  
  
(* _ **Is it… JEALOUSY? JEALOUSY?!?**_ *)  
  
I hear the doctor breathe a long sigh to my side without saying anything, while I call my friend once more. “Trip…”  
  
That look stops me again.  
  
"We love each other, Jon."  
  
I can’t help but listen, repressing shamefully a guilty twinge inside me, a twinge even more odious now, in these circumstances. Now, while she is going. Because now I recognize perfectly what this is, absolutely clearly.  **Jealousy!**  Yes! I can’t deceive myself any more. Stupid,  **disgraceful** , jealousy, because Trip has…what I would have wanted.  
  
_And what he’s going to lose!_  
  
My friend’s voice shakes me. He levels a stare at me when he speaks again, his words bitter and laboured. “This… this stubborn… woman won’t… ever… say it, but… it’s so. We…” - His eyes get red. - “… we’re… in love…”  
  
Red, red… his eyes get more and more red… - “… and now…”  
  
His eyes fill up with tears. - “… now… I… ”  
  
His voice breaks down. A whisper of inexpressible pain. - “…lose... her!”  
  
The doctor and I aren't there any more as Trip turns his focus back to T'Pol, slowly leaning upon her and tenderly caressing her hair. I notice her hand is so pale as he takes it into one of his. He talks to her, oblivious of us and of any else thing.  
  
“I’m losing you… my know-it-all, pig-headed love!”  
  
I don't know what to do. I've never seen Trip so broken. So lost.  _So hopelessly desperate._  
  
(* _And I don’t know how to handle what I feel inside._ *)  
  
Phlox and I exchange a powerless glance.  
  
The disjointed words of our friend compel us to pay attention to him again, and to the mournful scene that's occurring under our eyes.  
  
“I lose you for real, Hon. I… I'll see you... never again!”  
  
(* ** _HON!!!_** *)  
  
A remorseful expression, sad, almost angry, pops up suddenly on his face. His voice lowers to such an extent that I almost can’t hear it; it’s like he wants to tell her something that he’s unable to not tell, but that he doesn’t want others to know.  
  
The overwhelming pain of this moments brings him to behave like this, to say things that shouldn’t be said aloud, to disclose things that should be private, clashing with his usual ability to control himself…  _with the way she would want him to behave._  
  
I should stop him, take him to reality.  
  
I should.  **But I want to know.**  
  
And I catch a few words.  
  
“…Stupid me… Romeo and Juliet … won’t see his Juliet…”  
  
I don’t dare to understand what it means.  _I don’t dare!_  
  
Other words, meaningful and private, that Trip is incapable of restraining, now, before the woman he loves. – (* _And who loves him. And who dies! The… the Juliet he won’t see any more!_ *)  
  
And, even if mistily, I understand a great deal of things.  
  
And the grovelling pang inside me grows up, insuppressible, while the truth I wanted to ignore reveals itself in its entirety.  
  
“….shotgun wedding… ”  
  
Dreariness, dire and sore, is now on his face.  
  
“…another man…”  
  
I've never seen Trip this way before. Never seen him so smashed. I never could've imagined him like this.  
  
“But you…”  
  
His voice gets now more lower, if possible. Only some words, bitty and drawled, resound understandable, but even if I can’t hear plainly, I’m able to notice their tone.  
  
It’s desperate.  
  
“…you…mine! ... cannot…”  
  
DESPERATE!  
  
“… without you!”  
  
All of a sudden I feel shamefaced and blameworthy. Guilty. Powerfully guilty!  
  
What am I doing, God damn it? What am I doing? I’m intruding! I’m intruding, profiting by the situation. I’m… vile. Vile.  
  
I look at the doctor. He moved back a few steps, and lowered his face, trying to not share something that is not his.  
  
Or mine.  
  
It’s not mine. I have no right. I have no right!  
  
But…  
  
I must know.  
  
I WANT TO KNOW!  
  
And I look again at my friend. And listen to some other words.  
  
“How… live without you? …die! …go crazy! ... I KNOW!”  
  
A sort of stifled noise comes from Phlox, a choked exclamation which forces me to avert my attention from the scene.  
  
I look at the doctor, and somehow the stunned expression I see on his face, an expression that I don't understand but that speaks volumes… that expression shakes me.  
  
What the hell am I doing, for Pete's sake? How can I intrude so badly on things which belong only to my friend? How can I begrudge him his feelings? How can I begrudge him his privacy?  **How can I feel jealous of him?** Instead of feeling compassion? Comprehension? Instead of trying to do something to alleviate his sorrow?  **How can I feel this sort of… of envy, while she, my Vulcan friend, my trustworthy First Officer is… is…**  
  
Words which sounds as sobs drag my eyes back to the couple.  
  
”Don’t go Hon. Don’t go! I beg you! Don’t go Hon!”  
  
Enough now! ENOUGH! I have to do something. I can't stand to see him this way. I call him. A whisper again. “Trip…”  
  
But he doesn't hear me. He doesn't know I'm there any more.  
  
My voice bursts out powerfully!  
  
“TRIP!”  
  
His body stiffens up suddenly. Like he was emerging from the fog, he stands up slowly, taking his hands away from her.  
  
Then he turns towards us, crossing his arms. There's a rigid mask on his face now; a... coldness… which frightens me more than his previous frenzy.  
  
And his voice echoes glacial in the room. “I’m sorry, Captain.”  
  
I’m alarmed. This is not Trip. This is not the man I know.  
  
I call his name again. “Trip…”  
  
Those eyes, those red and vacuous eyes, no longer are shedding tears. They seem to watch me from another, distant dimension.  
  
He repeats the phrase, as an automaton. “I’m sorry, Captain.”  
  
“Trip.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Captain.”  
  
“TRIP!”  
  
“I’m sorry, Captain.”  
  
“Commander!!”  
  
“I’m sorry, Captain.”  
  
“ **MISTER TUCKER!** ” Phlox’s voice, hard and loud like never I heard it, all of a sudden fills air around us. “Mister Tucker, enough now!”  
  
Trip’s eyes turn slowly on the doctor, who spoke for the first time since we entered the sickbay.  
  
They are glassy, far.  
  
Wicked.  
  
I see the doctor shuddering! I swear!  
  
Like me!  
  
He seems to recognize the doctor. A deadly voice...  _a hatred voice_... comes out from Trip’s mouth.  
  
“Ah, doctor… I’m glad to see you.”  
  
“Mister Tucker…”  
  
“Yeah. I’m glad…”  
  
I’m thinking if the doctor is going to sedate my friend, but he seems quiet now, even if frighteningly glacial. And Phlox only seems to want to scrutinize him, with keen attention, while he keeps on speaking.  
  
“… I’m glad, because you’re the right person.”  
  
“Commander, what do you mean?”  
  
I follow the dialogue between the doctor and my friend.  _The shadow of my friend._  
  
My back is sweaty.  
  
A man that I don’t recognize speaks softly in the air.  
  
His voice is… cruel.  
  
“Oh, doctor… I think you have to save her life.”  
  
“Commander, I…”  
  
“I… think… you… must… do… it…”  
  
A frightful quiver runs along my spine.  
  
What… what is now my old friend? What did the evil destiny to him?  
  
A doctor I don’t know… _a scared doctor_ … speaks weakly in response.  
  
“I… did my best.”  
  
“You… have… to… do… more, Phlox… More.”  
  
I try to take the control, to draw his attention.  
  
“Trip, listen to me…”  
  
But he’s on another world.  
  
His voice resounds far....  _unworldly_... while he speaks, talking to the doctor again.  
  
“Doctor, you have to save her. Who knows… Maybe this might save… a lot of lives.”  
  
I advance toward my friend.  
  
I speak hard.  
  
I’m the Captain, after all! A damn Captain who doesn’t want to send for security. I can’t do this to my friend, can't add the humiliation to his pain! Even in the middle of the storm which is fidgeting inside me, I cannot do this!  
  
“Explain, Trip!”  
  
That dead look which is capable of perforating your soul reverts on me.  
  
And I boggle.  
  
It’s not the look of a sane man, the look I see on his face. -(* _It’s not!_ *)  
  
I hear the doctor murmuring something. “Could it be ever possible?”  
  
(* _What? What could be possible?_ *) - But I haven’t time to ask anything.  
  
The… mad… -  ** _yes, mad!_** \- voice of Trip arises again, and the words I hear from him… they are not the words of a sane man. - (* _They’re not!_ *)  
  
“That Orion device I modified… it’s interesting. Really.”  
  
It’s not the voice of a sane man, the voice which talks –icy– to us. - (* _It’s not!_ *)  
  
“It could be very interesting to find the manner to make those devices work… the other way around.”  
  
I feel like a stab inside me.  
  
I speak to my…- (* _… to my friend?_ * ) - with a wary tone, almost scared of what he’ll reply to my question.  
  
“Trip! What you mean?”  
  
It’s not a sane smile, the smile he smirks with, while replying to me. - (* _It’s not!_ *)  
  
“Well, Jon. I think it would be really fun to see the looks on the faces of those who’re using these devices in case I do that. Sure!”  
  
(* _I don’t want to send for security. I DON’T WANT TO!_ *)  
  
A pause, loaded with tense suspense. Then, he continues, his eyes burning with a coruscant flame.  
  
“It should be really fun to see their expression…  _while they are feeling the pain that should be experienced by their slaves!_ ”  
  
“Trip!”  
  
It’s infernal – now – the look on his face. - (* _It is!_ *)  
  
“And I don’t know, Captain… No. It isn’t true. I know…  **perfectly** … what could happen to those who’re using these devices, in case she goes dying.”  
  
(* _NO! I don’t want to send for security. I DON’T WANT TO! I don’t want the doctor do anything to him! I WANT MY FRIEND BACK! NOW! HERE!_ *)  
  
I place myself in front of him, grabbing his shoulders with force.  
  
I shake them violently, while I gaze at his eyes mortally blank, asking him with a sombre voice what I’m afraid to hear.  
  
“What, Commander? What… could happen to them?”  
  
The eyes of the unknown man who’s looking at me…  _insanely_ … those eyes shine evilly, while he gives me the response.  
  
“ _They could die. **All of them!**_ ”  
  
His voice lowers till an ominous hiss.  
  
His eyes sparkle with a blaze of insanity.  
  
“ **Among the most atrocious torments!** ”  
  
I remain speechless, frozen, still holding him by his shoulders, unable even to think.  
  
His pupils dilate.  
  
He grinds his teeth.  
  
The bloodcurdling sibilance of his voice freezes me again.  
  
“But not Soong!  _He wouldn’t have such a rosy destiny._ ”  
  
His following words seem incendiary bullets.  
  
“ **As for him... _I'll take care of him… personally!_** ”  
  
(* _ **It’s not true!**_ It’s a dream!  _ **A NIGHTMARE!**_ *)  
  
I hear myself ask with a voice that isn’t mine. “ Trip! Are you going… “ - I whisper this word with dumbfounded, abrupt awareness. - “ **crazy?!?** ”  
  
Phlox’s voice - low, stunned and dazed - resounds behind me. “Is it really possible? And so strong?  **So strong that… he's gone… mad!** ”  
  
I remain frozen for a short instant, then my brain starts to function again, under necessity’s whip.  
  
Once more I don’t understand what the doctor means, but I don’t care, now. Now I have to bring back my friend.  
  
I have to prevent him from destroying himself with his own hands.  
  
_I know he doesn’t speak vainly. **He’s capable of doing what he says! And I can’t conceive that I have to be forced to proclaim his condemnation.**_  
  
I tighten my hold on his shoulders and stare hotly at that dead face.  
  
I bark on his face. “TRIP! YOU CANNOT DO THIS! You cannot think to take such a revenge, to kill so many people like this!  **YOU CANNOT DESTROY YOUR LIFE SO!** ”  
  
His lips close abruptly.  
  
His eyes become two slits.  
  
A deep rumble starts to boom in his chest, then in his throat, until it explodes ear-splitting on his mouth…“ **AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH** ”…while his arms dart up suddenly, breaking off my hold on him, hurling me to the ground as a weak wisp of straw!  
  
(* ** _Soong wouldn't have a prayer against him!_** *)  
  
I stare at him from the ground, cautiously, amidst the ruckus of the calls of the animals awakened by this beastly scream.  
  
With the corner of my eye I see Phlox fling himself toward the OC, while brandishing a hypodermic device, with the clear intention to call for help and sedate my friend.  
  
The doctor looks at me uncertainly as I put my hand up to stop him.  
  
(* _Not yet. NOT YET! There must be something we can do! There must be, before everything is lost!_ *)  
  
I stand up slowly under the look of Trip’s wild eyes, his breath harsh and deep, his hands clenched like vises.  
  
I move toward him little by little, careful not to make any sudden movement capable of provoking any blindly hostile reaction from him.  
  
His eyes follow all of my gestures.  
  
_Savage, furious and frosty, like the eyes of a feral and mortal beast._  
  
I halt in front of him in the weighty silence fallen in the room again, and I speak softly, searching his face for something of the man he used to be.  
  
The doctor following attentively our dance of death.  
  
The motionless woman at the centre of all this, lying unaware on her death bed.  
  
I look gingerly into the demoniac twinkle of Trip’s - (* _ **Trip’s?**_ *) – eyes.  
  
I call him, very lowly, with extreme caution. An apprehensive, fearful whisper. “Trip!”  
  
His eyes shine even more.  
  
His mouth trembles.  
  
His fists open and close… open and close… open and close…  
  
He speaks, a voice from the netherworld. But there’s a… a weird consciousness, now, in his words, and I don't know whether to be relieved or even more worried, while I listen to him. “My life? Destroyed? By me?”  
  
He peers at me, his eyes clearer and aware. His hands relax, lightly. His face puts on an expression more… human.  
  
He talks to me, to his old friend. And the bleak duskiness of his tone freezes my heart.  
  
“If she dies… I’ll die.”  
  
It seems to me that the world has stopped, because somehow I…  _I feel that what he says is not an empty phrase._  
  
“But, first, I'll go crazy.”  
  
I go on listening - appalled – to his words.  
  
“I know it. I don’t know the whys and wherefores… but It’s true.”  
  
The doctor’s voice. Again. Incredulous. Bemused. An abashed whisper of stunned astonishment. “ **So… damnedly… powerful!** ”  
  
I have no time to think of all these enigmas, because a sudden, long, inhuman howl bursts out from Trip, his mouth contorted. Even the beasts in the Doctor's zoo don't dare make a peep. It’s made with discernable words, but it sounds like a yell.  
  
“ **AAAAHHHHNOOOOOO!!!** ” An agonizing yell of tenebrous,  **mad** , despair! “ **I-WON'T-DESTROY-MY-LIFE!-IT-WILL-BE-ALREADY-DESTROYED-WITHOUT-HER!!!** ”  
  
A heavy silence descends upon us.  
  
The doctor watches me attentively, waiting for my order, the order that I can’t delay any more.  
  
I raise weakly my voice - “Doctor…” - while I watch my old friend, the last time, before I condemn him to his destiny.  
  
His body is taut, fists clenching spasmodically. His harsh and ragged breath nearly drowns out the sounds of the life-support equipment.  
  
Then something seemed to snap inside him.  
  
His eyes widen.  
  
His breath drops to a feeble panting.  
  
His hands slowly cover his mouth.  
  
And finally, as his eyes fix on something distant and indefinite, his arms drop to his sides, and his mouth barely moves as he whisper. “Without… her…”  
  
His eyes seem to focus on me, to recognize me. They look at me strangely.  
  
His whole person seems to go limp.  
  
He recoils slowly several steps, then turns toward the bed, gazing at her unstirring form.  
  
A soft, almost incredulous, doleful sigh emerges from his mouth.  
  
“Without…  _you…_ ”  
  
**And then, at this moment, I understand what I have to do.**  
  
I call him again. Strongly. - “TRIP!” - He faces me, his eyes full of tears again.  
  
Once more. Sweetly. - “Trip.” - I talk to him, slowly and affectionately. - “Trip…  _she wouldn’t want… this._ ”  
  
He looks at me agaze, at my words, his breath practically stopped.  
  
I scrutinize his look. It’s dreary. Heartsick. Desperate. But… it’s his look. The blue in those eyes is the blue of Trip’s eyes. My friend is back.  **It’s him!**  
  
I speak again. “She would want the Trip…” I emphasize strongly my words. “… **she loves.** ”  
  
He opens his eyes more, if that's possible, then he closes them slowly, keeping them shut for some instants. Finally, he opens them almost with effort, taking a deep sigh. He turns slowly toward her and stares at her steadily.  
  
He advances toward the bed, his eyes not abandoning her face.  
  
He stops to her side and bends over, lowering his face on her face until his lips nearly are touching hers, his hands holding amorously her pale visage.  
  
The doctor silently withdraws from the other side of the bed, ashamed of intruding such a intimate moment.  
  
_The last goodbye. The farewell greeting._  
  
Not me. I stay where I’m. Close to Trip and to T’Pol.  
  
_I want to see._  
  
_I want to hear._  
  
_I’m his…_  
  
_I’m… **their** … friend. _  
  
My friend, my old, hapless, ill-fated friend talks on her lips, with such a low voice that it sounds like a iffy sigh, but I understand perfectly what he’s murmuring to… his love.  
  
And I feel my heart torn to minuscule shreds.  
  
“Don’t go, T’Pol. Stay here. I won’t watch you any more, I’ll steer clear of you, forever, I swear. But… please... please! Don’t go! Live, Hon! Only that!”  
  
His mouth goes down, imperceptibly, even more, then, suddenly, he stops, like realizing what he’s doing, now and here, in front of the doctor and of me, acting like she wouldn't ever want him to do, showing so openly an intimacy which belongs only to them.  
  
He lifts his head and turns his face toward me, ashamed, but all at once determined, nearly defiant, impudent -watching me with a look which speaks volumes.  
  
And once more, I understand.  
  
This is the last occasion. My friend won’t be able to do  **it**  any more.  ** _Only now! And nevermore!_**  
  
I feel a hand on my shoulder and I turn slightly, seeing the doctor gazing designedly at me. His voice is almost hard when he speaks. “Let’s go, Captain. I think we should stay out for a little while.”  
  
I lower my eyes, shamefacedly, then I nod uncertainly and let Phlox lead me, and together we exit the sickbay. We stay firm in the corridor, in front of the sickbay door, in silence, each of us engrossed in our thoughts. The doctor observes me with keen eyes, and I know the why, what he thinks. He’s not a mere physician, he’s capable of deciphering the minds. He knows the somber turmoil inside me. (* _There, beyond that door, Trip is giving T’Pol the last kiss of love._ *)  
  
Tonight I lose T’Pol. For real. And also in my never said desires.  
  
(* _There, beyond that door, Trip is giving T’Pol the last kiss of love._ *)  
  
Tonight I was coerced to confront with myself. With my feelings and with my jealousy. With the unknown man hidden in my soul.  
  
(* _Beyond that door, Trip is giving T’Pol the last kiss of love._ *)  
  
Tonight I have learned the truth. About Trip and about T’Pol. And about me.  
  
(* _Beyond that door, Trip is giving T’Pol the last kiss of love._ *)  
  
Tonight I have almost lost also Trip, and my fight – for him and inside me – has been fearsome. And I don't know which his destiny will be. And mine.  
  
(* _Trip is giving T’Pol the last kiss of love._ *)  
  
This night will mark me forever.  
  
(* _ **Their** last kiss of love! _*)  
  
This night will mark our destinies, forever. This night all will finish. T’Pol. And Trip. And somehow also me. T’Pol will take Trip away together with her in some way or other - I know, I understood - and the solitude I surrounded myself with, little by little, foolishly, since the Expanse, will be my only path.  
  
Seconds pass, slowly. I and the doctor look at each other, hesitantly, while my impatience increases, until I decide time arrived we have to break the wait.  
  
I scowl at Phlox and push decisively the door's opening button. We enter the room, side by side, and we watch inside.  
  
Trip is standing, near the bed, holding T’Pol’s hand between his. He realizes we went back in the sickbay and casts a quick glance at us, directing straight after his attention to the pale visage of the woman he loves.  
  
He bends down slightly again upon her, looking at her closed eyes, while Phlox and I approach them little by little.  
  
Now I’m close to them and I hear him talk softly. It’s a sort of - I don’t know - a sort of harrowing request, a trepid…  _prayer_ … which rolls quietly between his lips and her lips, through the short distance that separates them.  
  
“Think of this, Hon. Only that.  _Think of this._ ”  
  
Finally he straightens up slowly, and stares at her face for a long instant.  
  
His last words, even if very lowly murmured, echo perfectly understandable in the silence of the room.  
  
“Think of it, Hon.  _Think of it._ ”  
  
One moment yet.  
  
Then he gathers himself.  
  
He turns his head towards me, looking at me with sad…  _aware_ … eyes.  
  
He shakes his head.  
  
He gazes again at the motionless figure on the bed.  
  
And then…  
  
He begins to recoil, little by little, without turning around, his shoulders oriented towards the door, still staring at her.  
  
Still whispering, like in a trance.  
  
“Think of it. ”  
  
One step backward.  
  
“Think of it.”  
  
Another step backward.  
  
“Think of it.”  
  
Another one.  
  
“Think of it.”  
  
Another one yet.  
  
“Think of it.”  
  
Now he’s on the doorway; he opened the door without looking.  
  
I wake and follow him swiftly, halting abruptly in front of him. I call him. "Trip..."  
  
He looks poignantly at me and speaks, his voice taking on an unknown, strange tone, like he wanted to mean deeper and altogether different things than those that can seem. “I’m sorry, Jon.”  
  
Then his chest heaves and he starts to run.  
  
He caught me off guard. I jump to stop him, but he's already distant, and I remain firm, looking at him who runs away, until he disappears from my sight beyond the corridor's corner; and in the dead quietness of the ship they resound clear, the pounding of his feet on the deck plates, and the mantra he chants with a mesmerizing cadence.  
  
“Think of it.”  
  
“Think of it.”  
  
“Think of it.”  
  
“Think of it.”  
  
“Think of it.”  
  
I remain motionless and silent for some instants, while I’m debating what to do. The last events whirl in my brain, as the thought about what will happen now. Then I decide to not follow him, because it’s righter that I stay here, and because I believe to know where my friend is going. Engine rooms, yes, there. There he’ll try to face his fate, surrounded by the engines he loves, and there I’ll find him… after all will end.  
  
All this swirls boisterously in my mind, as I back up toward the door, until it hits my backside and I open it without looking, and while the doctor’s cryptic half-phrase echo in my head again.  
  
What they mean? What do Trip’s actions mean?  
  
I need to know and there’s only one person who can help me figure these things out.  
  
“Doc…”.

Strangely, in contrast with his usual habit, he doesn’t answer.  
  
I feel suddenly unquiet. More than earlier, if possible.  
  
I call again, softly, without moving, suddenly conscious of the unnatural silence the doctor displayed during these latest moments. “Phlox?”  
  
No response.  
  
I turn around slowly, afraid of what I’ll see.  
  
_The end!_  
  
**Her end!**  
  
And… I see the doctor stare alternately at her control screen device and at her, with an incredulous, astonished expression on his face.  
  
I go closer step by step, my eyes locked on the screen. It sparkles and resounds. There’s on it an untidy turmoil of lines which go up and down, of lights which flash with vigour. It’s like if it’s resounding with life! It boils. More and more, more and more!  
  
My bemused –  _madly hopeful_ \- look lowers to meet the doctor’s look, and I read in his eyes the same dazed –  _madly hopeful_ \- marvel.  
  
Phlox and I hold our breaths, and at the same time, together, we look down at her, with bated expectancy.  
  
She moves.  
  
_Imperceptibly._  
  
She stirs.  
  
_Slightly._  
  
Her arms tremble.  
  
_Almost unnoticeably._  
  
Her mouth quakes.  
  
_Observably!_  
  
Her… her bosom rises up…  
  
_With a long… deep… breath!_  
  
The doctor and I lift our eyes to exchange an amazed -  _madly hopeful_ – stare!  
  
Then we gaze again at the woman…  _who’s regaining her place in the life._  
  
Her eyelids shiver.  
  
They open slowly.  
  
Her eyes look again at the world.  
  
_Confused._  
  
_Fuzzy._  
  
_Befogged._  
  
_ALIVE!_  
  
Her right hand quivers.  
  
It attempts to move.  
  
It rises up, with difficulty. With great effort.  
  
Slowly, little by little, it goes up, until it reaches her mouth.  
  
Slowly, delicately, its fingers begin to brush her lips.  
  
Slowly, dreamy…  **rapt!**... a soft sigh makes its road through her mouth.  
  
_It’s a hushed whisper._  
  
_It’s a deafening shout._  
  
_It’s a name._  
  
**“TRIP!”**

* * *

 

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> So now you know, my dear friends and readers.  
> Archer was forced to face his own ghosts. He knows, now.  
> He knows that between Trip and T'Pol there is love.  
> A sad and desperate love, because of that ****** Koss.  
> But there is love.  
> Otherwise how would it be that she has been able to awaken from her sleep of death at the touch of Trip's lips, whispering his name as a recall to life?  
> Yes, there is love, a love that he, Archer, will never have. At least, certainly not from T'Pol.  
> How will he react? We'll see my friends, we'll see, I promise you.  
> For now, without asking where Trip went, although in all likelihood, he went to his engines, to wait there, in the place he loves most, if his love has been able to retrieve T'Pol to life (because this is was his intent), let me just add one thing.  
> Life is drama, sure, but it is also fable.  
> And the miraculous awakening of Sleeping Beauty by virtue of the force of the love of her prince in love is not unreal, is not a mere fable.  
> It can happen for real.  
> As it happened to T'Pol.  
> Because there is a force in the Universe that is stronger than any adversity, stronger than death.  
> It is the force of love.


End file.
